


Apeshiraphale

by LayneyPotPie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale goes apeshit, Aziraphale is a badass, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Flaming Sword, Fluff and stuff, Scene: The Bandstand (Good Omens), Tags Are Hard, idk it’s just discorporating, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 03:03:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20167087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LayneyPotPie/pseuds/LayneyPotPie
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley go for a stroll and something unexpected happens.





	Apeshiraphale

Aziraphale and Crowley are on a Saturday stroll. Aziraphale looks smart and tidy as always. Crowley looks like himself (albeit more relaxed than in recent days), fashionably broody, with his hands jammed in his inconveniently small jean pockets and sunglasses tucked into his jacket pocket. He has been wearing them less and less often. They walk along the street chatting away until they come to the bandstand. Glancing at each other, they turn toward it, likely because something about that place to them felt unfinished. Crowley miracles a bench and they take a seat next to each other.

They are silent for a minute and then Crowley turns toward Aziraphale and says, “You know, Angel, we really aver-” 

But he is interrupted by Uriel and Sandalphon manifesting in front of the gazebo. Crowley and Aziraphale are taken quite off guard as they both had felt assured they would have had quite some time before heaven would bother them. Uriel and Sandalphon, knowing of the bandstand from studying the Earth Observation Files, have come down to Earth with metaphorical chips on their shoulders but literal axes to grind. Aziraphale notices the weapons, white and silver, and his face reflects the alarm he feels. Crowley stands abruptly as Uriel and Sandalphon approach. The unfolding scene looks like it might be of a biblical style battle, though one side is glaringly outgunned. 

“Aziraphale,” Uriel says, “Upstairs is quite perplexed at your...flame survival skills. Gabriel demands a meeting with you.” 

Aziraphale, stunned, doesn’t quite form words yet when Crowley says, “I think he needn’t report to you lot anymore.”

Uriel responds, “Demon Crowley, you are in the way of official heavenly business. I’d step aside if I were you. Aziraphale is coming with us.”

Crowley, his snake eyes glowing yellow and his expression dark and nervous, raises his hands to gesture to the archangels to calm down. And simultaneously, Sandalphon, still trigger-happy from his last smiting assignment, abruptly swings his weapon and injures Crowley’s left wrist severely. Crowley howls and grasps it.

Aziraphale jumps up with a start. His eyes search Crowley to assess the extent of his injuries, and Sandalphon to discern what his next move may be. His eyes dart back to Crowley, practically begging for some hint of what he should do. When he finds none he feels quite panicky, and sweat is beading up on his forehead. 

“Well?” Prods Sandalphon, displaying a menacing half-smile.

The nature of Sandalphon’s expression makes Aziraphale’s human insides both boil and crawl. Just then, Aziraphale’s hand remembers the sensation of gripping the flaming sword as he had done on his first day in the garden. Yes, it had felt foreign, that sharp cutty thing. But it had felt unyieldingly hard and powerful. The memory is so strong that it has the power to miracle the sword right into Aziraphale’s hand in that very moment. Shock and surprise spread across the faces of the other three beings as Aziraphale holds the sword with piercing focus and unmistakable intent. He raises his sword and plunges it deeply and suddenly without fanfare into Sandalphon’s ribs. The force and the flame cause Sandalphon to discorporate, and the unoccupied body of the vengeful archangel slumps to the floor before disappearing.

Uriel, shocked and awed, decides to take two steps backward and visibly loosens their grip on their heavenly axe. 

Aziraphale is pumping with human adrenaline (This new body Adam had given him is a tad more sloppily human than his previous corporeal form). He holds Uriel’s gaze fiercely with piercing bright eyes. “You can tell Gabriel I am no longer under his charge. Unless you, too, would like a taste of the Angel of the Eastern Gate?” 

Uriel, spinning from this rather unexpected turn of events, decides to retreat. They look up and disappear with a shimmer. 

Letting out a huge sigh of equal parts relief and amazement, Crowley sits on the bench. He follows with a breathy, “Well, that was new.” 

Aziraphale walks toward Crowley and signals to let him examine his wrist. Crowley holds it out, and with a waving motion Aziraphale heals it. After properly adjusting his waistcoat, Aziraphale sits down next to his friend. 

Cocking his head to his shoulder and gesturing toward the flaming sword which now lay on the floor, Crowley asks, “Uhh, how did that come about? I always thought you two were a bit of a mismatch.”

Aziraphale blinks thoughtfully. He responds, “It just appeared in my hand when I thought of it. I suppose it always was meant to be mine, gift from the Almighty and all. Perhaps I just never chanced upon an adversary necessitating its use.”

Crowley raises his left eyebrow and knowingly asks, “So, a wily old serpent making trouble didn’t count?”

“Heavens no! My dear fellow, I’ve always thought you were quite nice.”

Crowley starts to grumpily say, “shut it,” but remembers he needn’t disagree anymore. They were obviously and irreversibly on their own side now. “Angel, we averted a real disaster last week. And just now. And you were brilliantly competent.”

Aziraphale thinks he sees a subtle admiring grin on Crowley’s face. “Hmm. Well, there you have it. It’s all a bit-”

“Ineffable.” Crowley fondly completes the sentence, the corners of his mouth slightly pulled upward. 

Aziraphale straightens his bow tie and adjusts his collar. “Fancy a bottle of wine?”

“Right. Alcohol.”

And the two leave the bandstand for the bookshop: Crowley, contemplating that there are still surprises about the angel for him to discover; Aziraphale, wondering which bottle he would open when they would arrive; and neither knowing how much time they had until the next Big One.

**Author's Note:**

> It’s beautiful because the bandstand is the location of the breakup scene but now it is where Aziraphale chooses Crowley over Heaven unmistakably. Shut up I love it. I wrote this little fic in response to a Wrong Omens prompt on Twitter. They were wanting Aziraphale to go apeshit...this is a little short story in response to that. I couldn’t make it too violent or intense because I prefer fluff and stuff. Hope you like it!


End file.
